


loyal dogs

by limeli



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chilean Spanish, College Student Armin Arlert, College Student Jean Kirstein, Eventual Romance, Foreign Language, Historical References, Homelessness, Immigration & Emigration, M/M, Police Brutality, and probably some pretty awful French... you can correct me any time you want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limeli/pseuds/limeli
Summary: Jean and Armin are immigrants living in an unfair country. Both fight in their own ways.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 12
Kudos: 6





	1. before it all began

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of a series of events based on the 30 pesos revolution that happened last year in my country. I decided to release this today since it's a really happy day - today, we're having a plebiscite. We've been asked to decide whether we want a new constitution for our country. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this. This one's written from the bottom of my heart.

As much as he was aware, Chile and France had held a supportive relationship for a long time. Both of his parents had taken on the mission of welcoming political refugees in their homes when the 1973 coup d’état happened. The dictatorship that followed forced many to escape from the long southern country, and tiny French houses were soon filled with visitors that promised to keep up their fight to recover democracy. It wasn’t until 1988 that his parents’ best friends and their families could have some peace of mind. The plebiscite to decide whether the Chilean dictator stayed or not was announced not only there, but also over the neighboring countries. Chileans from all over Europe attended their nearest embassies, while those back at home committed to their civic duty in nothing but uncertainty. The night before October 5th, there had been a blackout in eight out of the 13 regions of the country, making the voters scared to death after what seemed like a threat to each one of them. However, the fire within the population was stronger, and the Chilean voters got to the ballot boxes with divergent hopes and dreams.

It wasn’t until years after the return of democracy that his parents bid farewell to their friends, who had turned into an extended family after so many years. The promise of a reunion lingered in their final conversations before those Chileans left that side of the world to go back to their homeland. His mother had always shown him some of the letters she’d exchanged with her best friend, and the history in them felt just too foreign to him. Living in the same country that had been systematically oppressed for more than 15 years felt nothing like it when he looked back. Having been born in the new millennium, Armin didn’t need to turn to that side of Chile after the peaceful development of the nation. Surely, some aspects remained to be fixed, yet a strange kind of happiness could be felt everywhere he went. Although he was little, he’d always been observant, and there hadn’t been any indicators in his side of the country that could’ve possibly led to the present. Well, that was until he started high school, the moment when his worldview was changed considerably.

Provincial life had been hard to deal with most of his life. Though his upbringing had been nice and full of great memories, it just wasn’t enough for him once he got to know about the world outside. Throughout his childhood years, he’d never needed anything. He was lucky enough to have parents whose wealth stayed out of great efforts in a relatively fairer atmosphere. Armin always labeled himself as such since he faced a totally different world from the one he’d been used to before turning 14. All around him, he would see classmates from different social strata, and it would show in small details, such as the kind of clothes they wore, to huge ones, like the fact that just a few students were able to take something to school for lunch. Making good friends was a difficult task for him since he felt like someone who didn’t fit in at all. Most of his classmates were polite to him, yet none of them had decided to cross the invisible wall between him and the rest. Growing up, he realized they’d just been afraid of bothering someone who was most likely to become their boss and patron at work in just a few decades.

After years of isolation and academic success, which he knew had been a privilege from the moment he figured out what his classmates saw in him, Armin became sick of standing in a land that didn’t feel like his own. As much as he’d tried to adjust to that tiny city in the middle of nowhere, he looked his parents in the eye and declared his main aim: moving to the city that made it big in the news. The morning he obtained the results from the national test, he was pleased to stand in front of both of his parents with a hopeful smile and tearful eyes. Pointing at the numbers in silence, he received proud stares from both as their arms threatened to turn him into jelly. Strong as she was, he didn’t see his mother cry once, yet his father was someone who couldn’t believe his son’s dream would finally come true, letting his teardrops drop on his shoulders effortlessly. A few days passed from the news and, by the time they arranged where he would stay and when he would move to the capital, Armin had already signed and sent his college papers to enroll in the Journalism program at Universidad de Chile. Having spoken with one of his family’s friends, he even made sure to have a part-time job at what was South America’s tallest building to ever exist. Standing 140 Km. far from Santiago, he already felt like he was living the dream he’d always pictured in his head. He had always been of the independent kind, and all his life he’d managed to develop strategic skills that had always come in handy. From the bottom of his heart, Armin could feel that he was unstoppable right there and then, having something to live for.

The day of his departure, Armin had hugged his mom and dad tighter than ever before, promising them to call as soon as he got home. Weighing the new phone in both of his hands, he breathed in what felt like the winds of freedom. Waving his hands at them one last time, he put the device in his bag and made his way into the train station’s platform at a fast pace, avoiding contact with anyone just for the sake of staying polite and quiet. When he got on the train to Santiago, the corners of his lips instantly lifted at the sight of modern wagons with clean insides and cushioned seats. Placing himself in a comfortable position, he looked outside at his parents one last time, and the eyes staring back at him remained as gleeful as his all the while. Mentally patting himself on the shoulder, he leaned on the window and felt the air move his locks gracefully. Being just an hour away from his destination, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander until sleep invaded him entirely.

The thought of finally making a living in Santiago excited him. Not even once in his life had he imagined taking such a step without his parents supporting him at their fullest, and that was a thought that made all of it the more special. That was not only going to be the first time for him to interact with all those stimuli in the capital city, but it was also his first chance at making a living on his own. His parents had promised to help pay for college for him, but he had also got a job of his own to pay for the place he would live in from then on. Being shaken by one of the passengers nearby, he smiled up at the old man and apologized for having fallen asleep so deeply. Holding his belongings tightly, he got off the train and felt his smile stretch wider as he saw a mass of people moving diligently from one place to the other. _Estación Central_ had been his first stop before getting home, yet there would still be a long way home before he could be able to celebrate having his own house.

Hugged by the huge walls around him, he stepped outside the glass doors that separated him from the rest of the citizens. As Armin watched people move around like a beehive, murmurs and yelling coming back and forth, he fell silent before the magnificence of his new city life. In the background, his glasses helped him figure out the shadow of what seemed like two tiny palm trees and the symbol of the famous Metro de Santiago. Smiling to himself, he walked on, taking his bag onto his shoulders with all the strength he had. He felt inspired and overwhelmed by the beauty of new beginnings – watching some street vendors near the ticket cubicles, he realized life seemed to be much more similar than he’d thought of. Buying a _Bip!_ Card before he made his way into the subway station, he greeted the young girl behind the thick, transparent division between them. She must have been around his age, though the bags under her eyes made her look older. The gleam in his eyes when she saw him was something unpredictable; he’d never been noticed that way before – at least not positively.

“The prices,” she smiled at him, and the wrinkles that were just starting to form around her eyes made him feel uncomfortably welcomed. Clearing his throat, he looked down and hesitated before saying anything.

“No sé inglés, perdón,” Armin looked sideways before checking the price list. Noticing the look of embarrassment in his interlocutor, he frowned at the numbers displayed on the glass. What that card made of copper? He could not know. Anyway, the presence of what seemed to be Haitian Creole brought him back to reality. He’d seen it in some books, but never had he ever encountered someone from Haiti. He suddenly felt confused by the fact that he was not good at languages at all but decided to let the thought go. People behind him were already whistling for him to hurry up. “$1,350?”

Finding a $2,000 bill in a tiny, vintage-looking purse, he gave it to the girl and received the plastic card. He wasn’t stupid – he’d had one of those in his hands every time his parents and he went to Santiago to run some errands. Still, he wished the cashier a good day before putting the card in his front pocket and turning to leave.

Walking in a straight line towards the subway, he stared around and found something worth telling his parents later. Right next to the tiny fence surrounding the entrance, a couple of black people sat supervising their goods. While the man tried his best to attract customers using a strong yet friendly voice, the young woman next to him held a curly-haired baby in her hands. Just guessing, Armin realized that they were trying to make a living out of whatever the rest of the downtown Santiaguinos had to offer. Stopping in his tracks, he stared down at his hands, pale with a few rosy touches. Giving it his all not to be caught staring, Armin held on to the greenish metal bar at his waist level. Breathing out tiredly, he tried to shake the idea of the potentially homeless off his mind.

When he got close the tourniquets that would allow him to get home in 30 minutes, he straightened his back and looked around silently, taking in every little detail. Stepping forward, he took the Bip! Card in his hands and put it closer to the chip sensor. Hearing a double beeping sound and expecting the metal bars to move, he pushed without any success. Feeling the heat in his cheeks, he stared at the balance shown in a tiny visor and sighed.

Walking back to the ticket center, he pressed his hands into fists. Before even getting home, Armin had learned he didn’t know his way around Santiago at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Need visual aids? Here they are.
> 
>  **[Estación Central](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/WGmNBidWnUA/maxresdefault.jpg)**  
>  **[Bip! card](https://www.infogate.cl/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/tendencias020602-1.jpg)**  
>  **Train to Santiago:** [1](https://www.revistaenfoque.cl/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/RANCAGUA-EXPRESS-1.jpg) and [2](https://cdn.plataformaurbana.cl/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/captura-de-pantalla-2016-02-08-a-las-11.09.28-528x321.png)  
>  **[Estación Central subway station entrance](https://fastly.4sqi.net/img/general/600x600/4ippJGuHQ8hL8b9rQ4nzKKaAr919XUfiDCfTjIOmcDE.jpg)**


	2. october 6th

Santiago was bigger than any other place he had been to before. Armin’s hometown was far from being the metropolis the Chilean capital had turned to be in the last few decades. Though it took him around thirty minutes to get to school by car back at Chimbarongo, the time devoted to commuting in the big city could not compare. If he had to be honest with himself, the college student congratulated himself every evening after getting into his pajamas. Living so far away from uni and working even further made his life feel entirely different from what he had imagined it to be. As proud as he had been feeling of coping with all the struggles a capital city implied, he had to admit some things just weren’t going to feel right. Ever. One of those was the huge amount of time spent on buses or the subway, public spaces which were mostly known for always being crowded. Only once in the eight months he had outlived far from home, he had gotten to know the reality just a few lived when it came to public transportation. However, that had just happened because he had taken the bus at 11 am – a time of day in which not many were outside their offices or workplaces, to begin with. Although his plan to become a journalist was what kept him moving forward, some days he just didn’t know why he went through so much, why he’d left the comfort zone that his home was.

Just like every Sunday, working at one of the nicest stores in his opinion felt much more tiring than the rest of his shifts. Speaking to his fellow coworkers, he found out there had been an alarming increase in the number of people who visited them or bought their products. One of the most renowned films of the year, The Joker, had just been premiered. Apparently, lots of Santiaguinos had decided to go to the cinema to get an informed opinion of it, and most of them had chosen his shopping center’s as the perfect one. That had meant raising their security barriers and being more attentive to customers inside the shop because only God knew what sorts of people went anywhere near them. Despite all the extra security steps they had to take on such a special occasion, seeing life pass him by from the cashier’s seat, Armin didn’t find it so bad. After all, he had the chance to spend his days in Latin America’s tallest building and shopping mall. With its 300 meters, Costanera Center received visitors from 10 am to 9.30 pm – there was no way workers there would not be overexploited by the people’s demands. Still, Armin didn’t think he was in a position to complain; without his work, he wouldn’t have survived in Santiago for more than a month.

Above all else, he felt grateful for the opportunity he had been granted, but he’d soon realized what he thought may not have been the most critical way of viewing things. On his first day at work, he had found a boy who lived a bit further away from work than he did, which meant he had so much more to deal with. After spending just a few hours, he learned that the boy struggled so much more than he did with his studies and making a living. Eren, as he’d introduced himself back then, had made it a personal mission to expose all the misery some people went through in the most vulnerable contexts. Listening to him, Armin detected the huge amount of prejudice his words carried, but he was also quick to understand why Eren’s speech was so stained by resentment. Looking at him as he told him the story of his life, he could easily perceive how wrong it all was for the most unfortunate inhabitants of the capital. After that encounter, Armin was surprised to know that he would have to share his workspace with the angry boy for more than he would’ve liked to. Doing his best not to seem unaltered by the other’s words, he soon found himself getting closer to the boy. Despite how different they were, Armin felt he could learn something valuable from him, so he stuck to him with delight once he grew accustomed to Eren’s helplessness.

At 1 pm, Armin took his apron off and made his way to the shopping center’s fourth floor. Near the customers’ toilets, just around the food court, there was a huge hidden room with lots of tables and microwaves for the people who worked at the various shops inside the shopping center. Dragging along his tiny lunchbox and a bottle of cold water he got from the nearest vending machine, he walked rapidly to catch the seat that kept him far away from the big, loud TV screen. Looking out the window, he placed his meal set in front of him as he avoided the Sports reporters and their ridiculous remarks. In his head, there was no way anyone would study for five years just to chase a ball the way a football player would; it just didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, the breaking news announced by the news anchor distracted him from the usually polluted view of the Andes Mountain Range. Turning his head to the screen, Armin’s eyes widened and, quite psychologically, he felt his pockets weigh much more than they usually did, just as if he’d put five copies of his house’s keys on each side of him.

_[El metro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLksKyXKQU0), por ejemplo, subirá 30 pesos en horario mientras que la tarifa del Tren Central tendrá la misma alza…_

Dropping his fork on his tomato-sauce stained Tupperware, he sighed, feeling defeated by the announcement. While he rolled his eyes, he found Eren huffing by the room’s door as his emerald eyes shot a look his way. Almost mechanically, Armin answered by shrugging his shoulders lightly and shaking his head in denial. Instead of perpetuating any negative ideas in their minds, Armin just patted the seat next to him to invite his co-worker to have lunch by his side. Instead of saying anything at all, when Eren sat down, Armin just gave him the most honest smile he could and grabbed his cutlery again. Listening to the man on TV had suddenly turned an unbearable task, even more so when the person speaking had no idea of what they experienced on a daily basis.

“Eren, suben el precio cada trimestre,” Armin had attempted to say matter-of-factly. It occurred to him that explaining things to Eren would make him refrain from commenting on anything at all, yet the look he got was enough to make him fall silent.

“No los veo subiendo el sueldo mínimo.”

Defending the status quo around Eren had always been a hard task, and that day, it felt even more challenging. Still, that time he was absolutely right. As the man went on and on about how the fare would be cheaper in times of day when just a few commuted around Santiago, an idea popped into his mind. Looking into Eren’s eyes while he showed him the beans his mom had cooked for him and his sister, Armin realized that they didn’t deserve getting breadcrumbs for all the efforts they did. Calling it shitty was an understatement.

* * *

Throughout the week, Armin did his best to be able to study, work, and talk to his parents without neglecting either of those elements in his life. Just a month and a half before, he had returned from the usual two-week holiday Universidad de Chile had blessed their students with for once. Usually, groups from different faculties would go on with demanding improvements around different campuses. In his case, Juan Gómez Millas wasn't the exception to the rule; most of the time, it would be learners from there who would start with the strikes and Friday organizations prior to the making of petition lists. As much as he liked the way democracy worked at his university - fortunately, most showed themselves as intellectually open and pluralist people - that year, he had prayed for the campus not to go on strike as usual. After all, it was his first year, and things already were exhausting the way they had developed. Therefore, when he was told they would be granted some time to rest, he appreciated it wholeheartedly and arranged his work schedules for those weeks. Working without the need to study anything at all felt simply gratifying, which made things much more bearable at the start of the second semester. However, when he least expected, he found himself in his bedroom, counting up the days to the tons of assignments he would have to turn in. The worst part of it all was that work didn't treat him so kindly either - the number of customers was still on the rise due to the success The Joker had had not only at their mall's cinema but countrywide. There wasn't a minute of the day that Costanera wasn't about to explode with all those individuals coming in and out, shopping bags hanging from their arms and hands. Overall, he hadn't had much time to relax, yet he was well aware that it was the only option he had if he wanted to have a profession of his own.

A year before finding himself drowning in college assignments, early mornings, and late nights, his parents had filed in a scholarship application. In 2018, the Chilean government had decided to give high school learners the chance to pursue undergraduate studies for free if they underwent the application process, which was characterized by the huge load of paperwork that had to be turned in. Regardless of how annoying it might have been, the Arlerts complied with the sending of documents so that the only child in their tiny family circle would make it. Unfortunately, the requirements they had to meet were so many that Armin didn't get the opportunity to study without minding how much each year would cost. Reading the application results, he had all that it took to win the scholarship, but the only thing that stopped him from getting it was that he didn't belong to the 50% of Chileans who could be considered poor by the government. Sitting in front of his Cultural Studies teacher, he propped his head on his fist, looking down at his notes with a tinge of disappointment. Knowing that he had to go the extra mile with his efforts just to study didn't make sense sometimes, and after the news he'd witnessed next to his _Casa Ideas_ friend, it all became even more unacceptable in his mind.

His personal life was far from feeling satisfying. Apart from the debates that would take place in his conversations with Eren, there was no one else who would be close enough to him to call them a friend. One of his classmates, Connie, was the nicest guy around him and would treat him kindly. Despite his good social skills, there was something about him that Armin just couldn't get his head around: He was used to getting along with that side of the campus' pot smokers, so the times they interacted genuinely and not under the influence of any drugs were scarce. Friendly as he was, Armin would tease Connie about that, but his introverted self didn't let him go past that. As a result, the cashier just spent his time on campus locked in the library, reading the papers that had previously been assigned to him so that he wouldn't have to work harder later. Many times, he wondered whether there would come a time he would meet someone who would get along well with, but he stopped his wondering as soon as he looked at the people around him. Feeling like the epitome of a country boy lost in a big, grey city, he reminded himself that his goals had nothing to do with feeling lonely. He was sure a time would come when he wouldn’t feel so left out anymore. Still, deep inside him, he couldn’t wait for that day to come as soon as possible. Rational as he was, sometimes, it became impossible to avoid the intrusive thoughts that kept him awake late at night.

Every single time, Armin found himself looking out windows. Be it at work, uni, or home, the only image keeping him company was the blurriness of his reflection on the glass beside him. Grabbing a pen, he took down some notes from the lesson just to remind himself later that he would have to ask the teacher to clarify topics he most likely didn't pay attention to that day.

"Oye Armin, ¿ _cachaste_ qué onda?" Connie's voice came from next to him like a whisper, and Armin could've sworn that he'd never heard him in a more sober state than then.

"No, ¿qué onda?"

"Los secundarios se están organizando _pa'_ hacer evasión en el metro," the other boy said, making his best efforts to keep his voice down despite his shock. Feeling his gut tighten at the thought of high-school students rebelling as they had a few years before, Armin blew all the air in his lungs out. Had they lost their minds? Of course, something so anti-systemic would require enough organization for everyone to act accordingly, and Chileans weren't good at reaching agreements. 

Blinking back at Connie, Armin pressed his lips tightly and shrugged as he did when he had nothing to say. Indeed, it just sounded too far-fetched for those kids to carry out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos in the previous chapter! I'm so glad some of you enjoyed it.
> 
> You may still need some visual aids to picture the places. Here they are:  
> [Armin's workplace](https://images.estilosdeco.com/locales11/casaideas-8.jpg)  
> [Costanera Center](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/proxy/c1mV8nG1CibN5taL5oRT0uCcic3DAOQ1HY7xPaeoAm_r5MaRUhETNySsXB29CMIV0uJxxU_LMbZoesfp9DLPWdguLU7-AG7bgIXnY3_aWLIvTf5W6XALnkq22vWpMKt9a-_aDeSTD4-qTYt8YCxtGX9dIOgtjyAx-J60ZL13kafRoT3ExdqS41HP_xlFvNJnPsD4SnBvuJktjOoI-S2CpPmeSz-7j2fj23Nr)  
> [Universidad de Chile's Communication faculty](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/ea/Iceidesdesociales.jpg)
> 
> BTW, there's the Chilean Spanish term _cachaste_ which means "DId you know...?". So Connie's question is literally "Did you know what's going on?" or something like that.


	3. october 17th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me leave something iconic here. It doesn't matter if you don't understand Chilean Spanish - [this was an absolute hit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSuyUeViGas).

Armin considered himself to be someone who played by the rules. All his life, he had been raised by two adults who were far from being chaotic. At school, he had been praised by his teachers and envied by his peers because of his lawful behavior. However, the events that had happened the last few days had woken something within him he just couldn’t get rid of easily.

Just a few days after the announcement about the metro and bus fares, the Ministry of Economics had let out a comment that only an alien would have been able to make. Since people realized the price had shot up excessively, small, organized groups attempted at giving others the chance to evade the payment of the public transport massively. The news had been all over social networks, but none of it made it to the TV except for the politician’s words about the measure. Wishing the best for the national economy to develop uneventfully, [Minister Fontaine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nFO4zjFniso) had explained that, though the peak-time fares had _slightly_ risen, citizens were given the opportunity to start their days on earlier mornings just to pay fewer pesos.

The issue there was that the Minister was asking everybody to get started on their journeys at least an hour earlier than usual just to pay less money for something that already cost too much. Armin himself knew such a claim could only be pronounced by the mouth of someone who didn’t need public transport. Anyone in their right mind would have known that most Santiaguinos already woke up extremely early just to get to their workplaces on time. Some people were asked to start working at 7 am, and they had to take up the challenge of leaving their homes at 5.30 am to get to the nearest subway station. There, they would have to travel on the underground for at least half an hour before getting anywhere closer to their jobs. Such cases would be benefitted by the low fare, yet the schedules of most of the city’s population differed in an hour. Most office workers, students, and other professionals were asked to start their working hours from 8 to 9 am. Therefore, the peak time was established a few decades ago to facilitate the quick transportation of many people in a 7-to-9 am schedule.

The new measure adopted by the Chilean government led to most of Santiago’s inhabitants to pay 30 pesos more for a service that just wasn’t worth it. Peak time was called so for a reason – the metro stations were always crowded, long queues of people behind tourniquets waiting for their turn to take the subway here and there. Also, it wasn’t strange for the trains to stop midway and get stuck for minutes, delaying everyone on their daily trips to work. In the last year, Metro de Santiago had experienced many technical issues that had driven everyone crazy, yet no one had dared to say anything. As much as people could complain about it under their breath, those words never gained enough strength for the citizens to demand improvement. If there was something that always impressed Armin, it was that Santiaguinos could be so inactively accusative. He’d never met someone from the big city who would get fed up with a situation and work for it to get better. City people were like the kind of dogs that bark too much and bite too little – it felt to him like it was in their DNA.

As much as he wanted to come to terms with the regional situation at hand, he understood the injustice so many had faced back in Chimbarongo while he enjoyed the life so many privileged immigrants were able to live. He could finally see why his classmates had been distant all along – he’d never belonged there because he was far from being one of them. As of October 17th, Armin studied journalism just to have a career overseas, far from this rotten place, and, hopefully, near the cities where his parents had grown up. He had decided to flee Chile and go back to where he thought he belonged, yet something crossed his mind suddenly. As French as he could be, he would never be accepted as such with the background of having been raised in a deplorable land.

When the clock struck 4 pm on the stained walls of the department store, he grabbed his belongings and smiled up at his co-worker. That day, Eren had been looking quite pleased about something social going on and, judging by what had happened recently, Armin guessed it had to do with people evading again. Relieved to leave before everyone would come at peak hours, the college student left the store and walked over to the closest mechanical stairs. Customers and visitors were beginning to swarm into Costanera Center, and Armin felt blessed about being able to leave. Lately, although the store was located on the side of the third floor that no one cared about, lots of people entered the store. Unfortunately, not many made it to the cash register, so it was always a mess when Eren and he had to call their co-workers to return the products to where they belonged.

Armin wasn’t one to complain. Ever. His reaction to the high school students rioting at different subways around Santiago was far from what someone would expect from an 18-year-old. He was quick to explain this phenomenon whenever he wondered about it: He never had the need. His parents had taught him to be the best version of himself, they were neither overprotective nor abusive towards him, and his strange social differences with the rest of the class hadn’t stopped him from focusing on who he wanted to be. Overall, he was a calm boy when he was younger, so most boys did not like approaching him in any way. Among the girls, some wanted to, but always on their own terms. He’d never had someone sleep over at his house – mostly because everyone knew about the communication breakdown there’d be with his parents. He was always aware of those differences, but since he didn’t really dwell on them, he categorized them under the “cultural shock” tag he’d made in his mind around a decade before.

Making his way down the Tobalaba Metro station’s stairs, he heard noises coming from the tourniquets’ location. The last few days, he had thought the manifestations had happened in unimportant parts of town – _because,_ he thought _, let’s face it: there are just five important communes. The rest of us are shit_. Walking on, he soon found himself in a sea of people, all of whom were led by some people looking around his age. Smiling to himself, feeling renewed by the others’ mood, he let himself be moved by the crowd past the instruments that decided whether you were to take the trains or not. Two old ladies were helped by the students as they commented on how bad the situation had become since the electricity bills and the subway fare had risen. Armin listened attentively but did not take part in it – he did not know how. All that year, he’d realized how lucky his home life was and how much everyone else had been in need, while he’d rejoiced a life he didn’t know he deserved. Holding his breath, Armin felt how privileged he was for the umpteenth time in his stay in the capital. Still, that day, he didn’t play by the rules – not for himself but everyone else. For his neighbors, for Eren, for Connie, for those who couldn’t enter college and resigned to living a farmer’s life back home.

The thrill of it all got to him after he was able to get on a train around half an hour later. The subway’s guards had already taken control of the massive evasion upstairs with the police’s help. Armin was certain that wouldn’t have happened if the event had occurred downtown – Tobalaba was located, after all, in one of the five communes that mattered. They were like the land behind the Sina Wall he used to dream of as a child, though much more accessible. If people had decided to avoid paying for transportation where he lived, there would have been no way for him to return home that afternoon. Armin’s neighborhood was made of old, poor people and their grandchildren, lots of early birds by force, and its surroundings housed undercover drug dealers and occasional sex workers. In his opinion, that part of town wasn’t as nice as he’d first pictured it. He’d seen the house he would live in for the next five years, and he’d liked the homey feeling to it. However, after eight months of knowing the real context, it was far from feeling like the countryside did. Lots of dangerous things happened at night – sometimes, you could even hear gunshots! – and he had to be very cautious of the routes he took. Judging by his looks, he was one hundred percent more prone to getting assaulted by those who were in search of a victim.

Being careful enough not to step on anyone’s feet, Armin looked down at his the whole ride to Los Héroes station. Usually, he’d just take any bus to Los Héroes and then the 201 one up to Lo Ovalle. He didn’t appreciate crowded places, but that day he needed to come up with a plan to turn in his photojournalism teacher’s assignment on time. He was supposed to present what would be a glimpse of the huge project he was meant to work in. Still, sometimes, it felt like uni teachers just thought their course was the only one that mattered, leaving an awful workload on the students’ shoulders. He guessed that, after all, that was college life in the end.

After transferring lines in Los Héroes, he found himself in an equally unbreathable atmosphere until his feet touched the floor tiles of Lo Ovalle’s metro platform. Walking upstairs and leaving through the ancient Caracol Lo Ovalle shopping center, he took the main street and made his way home. Everywhere around him was too quiet, so he figured out people were already saving themselves the trouble of having _los pacos_ visit the neighborhood. At 9 pm, while he brainstormed ideas as he explained to his dad what had happened that day, the sound of crushed metal reached his ears. A _cacerolazo_ – he understood what it was, theoretically, but he’d never lived through it. His parents had always explained to him that was the true form of protest in Chile. In the 1970s, people had first shown their discontent due to the lack of food on the streets, showing the government representatives in those times that there were people suffering and dying from hunger in the same land as theirs. The behavior and logistics of casseroling were simple: you could take some metal kitchen artifact you have, a spoon, and your will to bang one against the other for several minutes to make some noise. Feeling the history behind that act, Armin grabbed his camera and hung up on his father, running outside with a tiny pan and wooden spoon of his own. Finding his neighbors outside, he took a picture of a pyre resting two streets away as some people his age yelled _“¡Esto no prendió! ¡Esto no prendió!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Some clarifications first.  
>  _los pacos_ is the informal way Carabineros (the police) are addressed here in Santiago. I don't know if the term varies in other regions of Chile, though.  
>  _Caracol Lo Ovalle_ is an EXTREMELYYYY OLD building with the shape of a snail's shell (that's why it's called "caracol"). Caracoles were popular in the 70s-80s, like the Costanera Centers at the time here in Santiago.
> 
> Here you can take a look around [Armin's neighborhood](https://www.google.com/maps/@-33.5195947,-70.652315,3a,75y,309.34h,82.6t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1s7JAPxxye_dtQ0lYqi8kdrw!2e0!7i13312!8i6656).  
> [Metro de Santiago's subway stations](https://www.metro.cl/images/metrored_servicios_full_2020_09_25.jpg?v=2020092501)  
> [ _Los Héroes_ metro station](https://media.cnnchile.com/sites/2/2018/06/imagen_principal-4770.jpg)  
> [ _Tobalaba_ metro station](https://www.concierto.cl/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/foto.jpg)  
> Bonus: [**People on the subway at peak hours**](https://cdn.plataformaurbana.cl/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/1339424195_metro-528x352.jpg)


	4. the start of the 2019 chilean spring

Armin spent the whole day working at the store on Fridays. Those were the only days he and Eren could usually make it out alive because of each other’s company. Although the shop opened to customers at 10 am, the boys had been told to be there at 9 quite repeatedly. Despite the warnings, Eren usually got there at half-past-nine, which gave room to their supervisor scolding him for the 30 minutes he had left before officially starting the day. Armin would just laugh every time he saw him with the typical smirk he got at 9.58, right on time to check the cash machine and turn on the credit- and debit-card system. October 18th felt different, however, as both had arrived right on time and remained quiet and working as diligently as their minds let them. Armin could tell that his co-worker felt more scared of losing his job than he let out. Judging by his silence, the college student could only press his lips into a thin line and sit there, counting the hours for the lunch break to start. No comments were given that day and, whenever a customer spoke about the previous day’s outburst, Armin watched Eren nod lightly as if agreeing with statements that varied from his viewpoint much more than he would’ve liked.

At lunchtime, Armin invited Eren out in fear of having someone eavesdrop on their conversation. He thought at first that his co-worker would turn down the idea of practically fleeing the building, but when he winked at him with a serious look, his nervousness temporarily vanished. Taking off their aprons, they went to get their lunch boxes outside the cafeteria and headed for one of those long escalators that took them downstairs. Greeting the recently hired, 30-something women at the information counter, they got a friendly, loud “Hey!” in their smooth Venezuelan accents. Although Eren barely knew them, Armin got along with them well since he always arrived early at work and had some spare time for small talk. Passing the time with the girls just did wonders to his mood, but of course, Eren wouldn’t have known about that. He spent the seconds before arriving at work just running around the mall, trying his best to get to the shop as soon as possible.

Once they were out of sight, Armin’s slightly taller colleague asked him what they were doing outside, turning left on Nueva Tobalaba Street’s _Starbucks_ to make their way towards the grassy side of the street. Looking over his shoulder to find a few foreigners on tour around such a boring landmark, Armin sighed and fixed his stare on him.

“Llegaste temprano.”

“Si. Tú _cachai_ por qué.”

Nodding his head, Armin felt worried about Eren’s background. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as lucky as Armin had been. He was the head of his family, son to a 40-year-old woman with terminal lung cancer. Although his sister took care of half the family’s expenses, his mother’s treatment alone was expensive enough for all of them to work doing something to make a living. Of course, he would try his best to look like an exemplary worker to their bosses with that subtle chaos looming over Santiago.

Letting his eyes roam around them, he felt the heavy load of something unexpected coming their way. Armin was never one to overthink negative outcomes for events like the one that had happened the day before. He was more objective than anyone else he’d ever met, and that had always been his strength and weakness all the same. That time, though, he couldn’t explain why exactly he felt the way he did. Still, when his eyes lingered on Eren’s face as they sat on Andrés Bello Street’s grassy sidewalk, he knew his gut feelings were to be trusted. Granting Eren a weak, soft smile, Armin mentally cursed himself for theorizing so ahead of time.

* * *

Fridays always felt like an eternity and a half to Armin, and that one was no different. Doing his best to speak his broken English, which he owed his middle school teacher for, Armin stood behind the counter while counting the change in a couple of bills and coins. Smiling the brightest at the English-speaking couple before they took their leave, Eren did his part.

“¿ _Hablai_ _ingléh_?”

“¿Inglés? No. Recuerdo lo del colegio.”

“Ah, _wena_ ,” Eren managed to say, keeping the smile and feeling completely astonished after hearing his co-worker speak so apparently fluently. In fact, Armin had only partially made it possible, saying an awkward “ _The 10 money_ ” while pretending it had been a proper sentence. Still, Eren had no idea it had been his poorest attempt and, in Armin’s mind, he didn’t need to know either.

From the shop’s left aisle, surrounded by all pastel colors and toys of all sizes and colors, their boss emerged with the usual stare he had when he was fed up with something. Flinching at the potential menace of Levi realizing they didn’t even know how to treat tourists in the first place, Armin took a deep breath and prayed to his parents’ God in case it’d work.

“¿Qué onda, jefecito?” Eren decided to go for it, and though Armin wouldn’t have managed to be half as cocky as his partner had been, he had the same intentions to know about whatever was happening through their boss’ head.

In response, Levi tsked at the cashier, squinting his eyes and speaking with a low voice. If it hadn’t been the day after that disastrous and yet so futile protest, Armin would’ve just given it the importance of any other scolding usually directed towards Eren. Yet it just wasn’t one of those days, though he wished hard for them to be back like they always did. Chileans – no, Santiaguinos – just never ever went on rebelling against the system. “Niños, nos vamos a las 5.”

Looking at his watch, air escaped Armin’s lips faster than a bullet. It was already 4:13, so… what? Four hours before the end of his shift? What kind of miracle could that possibly be?

When he felt a teeny-weeny, innocuously produced tiny noise come from Eren’s mouth, Armin grabbed the counter with both hands and stared at his co-worker with wide eyes. Getting the silence they all deserved, he looked at Levi pleadingly. He was never one to expect explanations of any kind from anyone who could ever hire him. Time and time again, he’d been told about how loyal and calm he was supposed to remain in front of those who were in charge. Losing all faith in the state of things, Armin rebelled against his education.

“¿Por qué?” he simply asked, though his voice wavered much more than he’d wanted it to.

When both of them saw Levi repeatedly tap his phone as if looking for info, Armin was already clear about what the answer would be. The day before, getting back home in the public transport had been hellish, so he could only imagine those events had been happening all over again as they worked. Watching every single movement of his boss, he wasn’t surprised despite the opposite reaction they got from Eren, who was left speechless at the news that read on Levi’s phone. Shaking his head, Armin followed Eren’s line of sight, finding the worst Twitter update he’d encountered in a while.

[@MetrodeSantiago](https://twitter.com/metrodesantiago/status/1185259403093725186) _3.20 pm. Protesters have destroyed and thrown infrastructural objects into the rails at some of our stations. Lines 1 and 2 closed because of insufficient safety conditions._

“¿Se quema Chile y seguimos trabajando?” Eren suddenly asked, leaving the two of them at a loss for words. Risking it all, seemingly knowing whatever it was to become of them, he spoke angrily, yet Armin admired him more than ever. “ _Filo_. Capitalismo.”

Armin tried to say Eren’s name as if to scold him, but when he realized Levi had tried to do the same to no avail, he remained quiet. Capitalism indeed.

* * *

Leaving for home was nowhere close to easy. No buses would open their doors, and no cars would take him back home. Like so many other workers from the shopping center, Armin was forced to flee the place and get home on foot. Although a few complaints were running through his mind, he remained understanding of it all. Because of his current privileges, he wasn’t suffering from the people’s riots. Staring at Eren, who had already put on a tear-gas mask, he nodded his head to look his calmest. Feeling speechless, he tried to think of words to say that could fit the context. Little did Armin know that the words he would pronounce were the ones that were popularized in dictatorship times.

“Cuidate,” he said, feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. If anything happened to his co-worker, he would be the only person who’d seen the last of him. “No te _metai'_ en _weás_.”

Before waving his hand goodbye, he watched Eren roll his eyes with what seemed to be joy behind the annoyed look. Armin had a hard time stopping himself from hugging him goodbye, considering they barely knew each other outside of work. Hanging his head low, he watched Eren’s fake, made-in-China Converse shoes get farther from him. Suddenly, the college student found himself overthinking his sixth sense. He definitely felt something bad was bound to happen to Eren, either then or on the days to come.

Turning around to start the marathon journey back home, all the way south (12 km by foot! Just imagine!), Armin checked his phone’s battery to make sure it was fully loaded. Reading the 99% sign on the upper corner of his _Samsung J2_ phone, he set off walking down Vitacura street alongside two separate crowds in front of and behind him. Overall, the walk downtown hadn’t been as stressful as he thought it would be just because he’d gone on walks until Baquedano Square, also known as _Plaza Baquedano_ , before. The only issues he found upsetting about it all were a) the fact he had to walk home, b) finding subway stations closed on his way, and c) all the cars honking their horns simultaneously. For fuck’s sake - it wasn’t like making noise would guarantee them getting back home soon and safely.

It usually took him around 45 minutes to get to Baquedano from Costanera, yet that day it felt like an eternity. Texting his parents to let them know he was alright, just walking home in what would take like forever, he checked the time. He was only halfway through, his feet already feeling tighter as his eyes found the Church of Divine Providence’s frontispiece plagued in what would later be called “insurrectional graffiti” by the conservatives living nearby. Sighing, feeling conflicted by reality slapping him on the face, Armin helped an old lady with directions to get home. She was meant to travel around the same distance as him, just walking along the same path until her destination. Feeling too dismayed by the thought of someone her age literally going the extra mile just to have some peace enraged him, yet it wasn’t enough to judge the protesters that were also making their way to Plaza Baquedano.

“No se preocupe, _mijito_. Una es fuerte,” Armin heard the woman say before he nodded to signal his departure.

Watching the sun start to set on the horizon, the blonde boy made a stop to drink some water and apply sunscreen on his face. He was never one to worry about physical wellbeing, but that time he just felt he’d need anything and everything to make it out alive. Soon, his steps took him way past Salvador station, just a 10-minute walk from Baquedano. The atmosphere of the place, crowds and massive complaints aside, was overwhelming on its own – Balmaceda Park had hosted many people’s meetings that year, and he had been careful to visit the literary cafe located at the center of it. Letting his eyes fall on the previously cream-colored building, no longer bright and clear, Armin felt his heart contract as if vandalism had fallen upon the muscle itself rather than just a random building in the middle of a huge city. Then again, the pain wasn’t enough to judge the protesters and their fires already burning some bus stops in the distance. Whatever pain that library brought to him just could not be compared to the pain of not being granted the bare minimum for your quality of life. It just couldn’t.

A few minutes later, his feet stepped on one of the empty Alameda Avenue lanes that encircled the huge Manuel Baquedano statue, which was no longer surrounded by the beautiful flowers that had initially welcomed him in his first alone trip around Santiago. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened at the sight before him. The sky was no longer that orange tone he adored but rather a pale light blue starting to fade into the night. Around him and his intimate carved friend, he found the rest of the people that had followed his path making a diversion, avoiding what was soon to become chaotically dangerous. Of all the things he saw before crossing Alameda’s southern lane without any cars or buses to threaten his life, he watched an enormous tank-like vehicle that belonged to the police. He’d seen those before since high school students were usually really proactive when it came to protests. _Guanaco_ , as that kind of vehicle was called because it shot water, reminding Chileans of the national animal with spitting properties, was patrolling around. Its work, for the time being, was just extinguishing any fires that could destroy the public transport any more than they already had. It was then that Armin realized he’d never been acquainted with a situation like that, and he took off into Bustamante park, right south from the huge Plaza.

When he found nothing but a few tiny streets right across the park’s street, he took off through the one that seemed most peaceful in the middle of the turmoil. Still, he couldn’t help regretting his decision as he found his body standing on the east sidewalk of Vicuña Mackenna Avenue, just a few walks away from what seemed like vandals (or whatever they could be called at a time like that) setting a bus on fire. Staying still as if trying not to get caught, for his looks wouldn’t be advantageous at all in the middle of it, he felt his eyes blur with tears. He was trapped, and then those guys would take him away, probably thinking his last name was related to any of the upper-class people in the city. Biting his lower lip, he took a step forward to run away from disaster, though it looked more like he’d sprung onto place without making much progress fleeing the sidewalk. Finding himself paralyzed in the middle of Vicuña, he watched a _Zorrillo_ vehicle approach him violently (and almost mercilessly, he thought to himself).

If there was something worse than getting caught by _pacos_ , it was getting caught while being innocent. Already preparing himself for battle, he was suddenly startled by the heavy load of someone’s body practically running over his. Dumbfounded, his eyes scanned the scene in the flurry and, when he found the distinctive navy-blue and red football T-shirt, he cursed himself for being so stupid.

If there was something worse than getting caught by _pacos_ , it was getting kidnapped by an _Universidad de Chile_ hooligan.

* * *

Armin couldn’t really process what was happening to him until he realized he’d been dragged into a narrow street whose name street sign no longer existed, the metal bar that had held the sign already split into two halves. If it wasn’t Gotham, the college student sure didn’t know where that was.

As if he’d been Jane just having been saved by some kind of weird, football-addicted Tarzan, Armin attempted at thanking the man unsuccessfully. He realized there were no faces to look at to say thanks. Stuttering, he held up his hand as confidently as he could to offer a handshake, yet the man in front of him pushed him further away from the avenue. Practically feeling the other’s breathing hover over him, he looked up and focused on the wet, spiky brunet hair that went in all directions from the motion. Apparently, Santiago protesters just didn’t care about social conventions anymore to the point they just cornered their victims on empty streets. Hearing the strange man talk in a language that sounded like German, Armin adjusted his foggy glasses to look up at his savior. Or so it seemed – maybe he’d just rob him of whatever dignity there was left for him to hold. Would he even look German if he took off the hoodie wrapped around his head? Puzzled, he got the incredulous look of the other boy, who seemed to be just around his age. Next, the man shook his head and talked to him in fluent English as if he’d realized something that was supposed to be obvious. For a moment, Armin couldn’t believe that it was so natural for people in the capital to be polyglots. Smiling up at him, Armin tried to apologize in the best English he had, though it wasn’t a success. Failing at English two times in a day? Only Armin could pull that off.

“ _Sorrui_. I no _spikinglich_.” Or rather, _‘Sorry. I don’t speak English.’_

Then, he took his phone with both hands to hand it to his assaulter. It wasn’t much, but he guessed it’d be enough. Breathing heavily, Armin pushed the device onto the tall, lanky boy’s chest as passively as he could. Frustrated with their miscommunication, his savior looked down at him and pushed the hands encircling the phone back to Armin’s chest.

_“¿Hablai español entonce’?”_

Feeling the corners of his lips lift immediately, Armin nodded excitedly as he finally understood what was happening. However, the smile was swept away from his face when something like explosions sounded not too far from their hiding spot. They both turned around while Armin tried to speak, yet no words came to mind. It all felt surreal as if they’d been in the middle of a warzone. Feeling his eyes water, he felt a hand grab him by the shoulder and shake him slightly. Looking up again, he was welcomed by a face he couldn’t quite decipher in the dark.

“Di algo, _po’_.”

“Gracias por la ayuda.”

“¿Ayuda? Te podían llevar _lo’_ _culiao’_.”

As much as he’d wanted to, Armin knew it was time to part. He wasn’t even near his home yet to be spending the evening with a total stranger who, judging by the circumstances and his improvised outfit, probably wasn’t safe to be with. Trying to focus, he looked into the sparkly eyes of the stranger to say anything else, yet what else was there to be said but his thanks?

“Con cuidado, sal a Vicuña,” the tall man instructed, giving him directions to get back to a safer place. “Corre hacia el sur hasta que _encontrí'_ a la gente.”

Confused, Armin nodded his head. It surprised him to hear a voice that sounded so mellow yet so childlike at the same time. Also, his vocabulary and pronunciation were far from what he would’ve expected an _Universidad de Chile_ fan’s speech. Smiling up at the brunette boy, he mouthed a weak “thank you” again before leaving. When he returned to Vicuña Mackenna Ave., the college student ran as fast as he could to get away from the police cars surrounding the area. While he ran desperately in a beeline, Armin checked his phone’s battery and the time. Being 8.15 pm, he gave up on the idea of getting home safe and sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, you guys! New words!  
>  **cachai** a.k.a. "you know"  
>  **wena** , which is similar to "nice" (coming from "bueno/buena")  
>  **filo** , our Chilean "whatever"  
> Armin's **"no te metai' en weás"** is similar to "don't get in trouble". Consider "weá" is a word we apply to literally anything... since our lexicon isn't so varied.  
>  **mijito** , similar to "my boy" or "sweet boy," like all those endearing terms most old women use to address young people nicely.  
>  **po'** is just a filler we have. I don't think it means anything? We just say it.  
>  **lo' culiao'** is similar to "the fuckers/bastards." It is my ultimate fave... because I say it a lot, heh. 
> 
> [Armin's long walk](https://imgur.com/xT1riBa) throughout the chapter  
> [The traffic on October 18th](https://youtu.be/xO7jOrFim-M?t=8297)  
> [Balmaceda Park's literary café](https://tupanoramaurbano.cl/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/be28adfff47893c4519c1307dc6b8866_XL.jpg) before it was full of graffiti  
> Armin's [last memory of Baquedano Square](https://images.adsttc.com/media/images/5a5c/ba05/f197/cc13/a500/0010/large_jpg/baquedano_2_2015_.jpg?1516026370)  
> [Baquedano Square now](https://www.lacuarta.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Plaza-Italia.jpg)  
> [Vicuña Mackenna Avenue](https://www.ciperchile.cl/wp-content/uploads/Barricada-en-Vicu%C3%B1a-Mackenna.-CUIDAR-EL-HOTEL-e1579634255541.jpg) when it all started  
> Last but not least, you-know-who's [Universidad de Chile T-shirt](https://static.t13.cl/images/original/2019/11/1573161544-20191008adidas70aos0564-copia.jpg)


End file.
